The Recipe That Survived College

I’ve been making these since I was nineteen.

The recipe came to me from Martha, one of my three college roommates—at least that first year.

That was 1975. Lifetimes ago, and yet that dorm room is crystal clear to me. I can still see the corner where my bed sat.

I arrived from what might be called a “reserved” background, a little wide-eyed about it all. Somewhat sheltered. My life in Bermuda felt worlds away from the American college scene I stepped into.

Suddenly, I was living among the impulses and appetites of my rock-and-roll roommates—bad-girl behavior swirling in the air around me, tempting, unfamiliar, and impossible not to notice.

I think it must have been some kind of odd human experiment putting four eighteen-year-old women, bursting at the seams with life, into a room meant for two.

We were unlikely pairings.

College, for me, was more about survival than scholarship. I arrived without much sense of who I was or what I wanted to study, and I hadn’t yet learned how to discipline myself around classes and books. I was wandering in those years. At the time I thought that meant I was failing.

Now I see things differently.

Through the years, I’ve become kinder to myself in my memories of that girl. I most certainly was searching for the thread of who I was—and who I was to become, without the words or experience yet to understand that.

And the places that thread seemed to appear most clearly were around food—kitchens, tables, the way people gathered and nourished each other.

Looking back, I think I was actually finding my curriculum.

I didn’t know it then, but I was already studying food—moving from kitchen to kitchen, learning its language. Just not in a classroom. Far more exciting to me than anything on the syllabus.

Bermuda was far away. And when holidays came, I didn’t exactly have a place to go. My mother wasn’t flying me home for every long weekend, and I certainly didn’t want to stay alone on campus. So I went home with roommates and new friends whenever I could, finding myself in their kitchens, at their family tables, curious about what their mothers cooked.

That’s how I met Martha’s mom, Mrs. Medovitch, a borrowed mother during a moment when I needed one.

Bran had its moment back then—a cure for diverticulitis (Martha’s father’s prescription)—and her bran muffins made their impression on me.

Somewhere in that kitchen, I picked up the recipe.

I’ve been making them ever since.

At Mary’s Marvelous, we made them our own: the raisins often disappeared, and fresh blueberries took their place.

Mrs. Medovitch’s Bran Muffins

From the kitchen of Martha’s mother, Mrs. Medovitch, circa 1975.

These aren’t particularly sweet muffins, which is part of what I love about them. They belong comfortably on the breakfast table without pretending to be cake.

I sometimes scatter pumpkin seeds over the top and add a light sprinkle of date or coconut sugar before baking.

They’re simple, hearty muffins—and the next day they are fantastic split, toasted, and spread generously with butter.

Yield: 8–9 muffins
Oven: 350°F
Bake Time: 20 minutes

Ingredients

Dry ingredients

1½ cups wheat bran or oat bran
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt

Wet ingredients

¼ cup vegetable oil
1 large egg
1 cup milk
½ cup molasses

1 cup raisins or fresh blueberries

Optional topping

Raw pumpkin seeds
Coconut sugar or date sugar

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Instructions

1. Heat the oven to 350°F.

2. In a large bowl, combine the bran, whole wheat flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and raisins. Stir well to distribute evenly.

3. In another bowl, whisk together the oil, egg, milk, and molasses until smooth.

4. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and fold gently until just combined. Do not overmix.

5. Lightly coat muffin cups with nonstick spray. Fill each cup to about ¼ inch from the top.

6. If using, sprinkle the tops with pumpkin seeds and a little coconut or date sugar.

7. Bake for 20–22 minutes, until the muffins are set and lightly springy to the touch.

Mary’s Note

These muffins keep beautifully and are especially good split, toasted, and spread generously with butter the next morning.

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From my table to yours,

Mary